


Purity

by beekeepercain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 15:31:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2778296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekeepercain/pseuds/beekeepercain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Angels are pure.</i><br/>But if there was one thing Sam had learned, purity came in different strokes, and there was nothing pure about the way that the angel whose thighs he pushed out of the way moaned to the feel of Sam's tongue moving down his body still.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purity

**Author's Note:**

> Hijacked a prompt on tumblr. Now I can slink back to my monastery for another year to come.

* * *

 

_Angels are pure.  
_ Sam could have laughed. His fingers slid down the wall and across the plastic bump, turning off the lights. The bed creaked and he was certain, absolutely certain, that in the room next to his Dean would tune into that creak and just know as if his eyes allowed sight right through the wall, and as he thought that, trying to convince himself that it wasn't happening, he could feel his heart racing in excitement somewhere at the bottom of his throat. The lights from the curtain-covered motel room window reflected from Gadreel's eyes, and the angel watched him with an unreadable expression on his features - just watched, brows implying a frown and lips parted.

Sam hadn't noticed how possessively, dominantly he was holding his palm over the older's chest. His skin could make apart the texture of the scarring where Gadreel had carved the sigil years ago; the conflict of those memories caused his weight point to shift back over his knees, bringing his hips up from the older's where he'd earlier held the other down with nearly his full weight shared between that point of contact and his hand. He licked his lips and the sigh he let out seemed to echo in the silence where he wished for commotion and noise to bury them out from the ears of outsiders.  
  
When he opened his eyes, the angel underneath him was now watching him with something of a challenging, prideful look instead. Sam knew what it meant, and the next thing he knew was the taste of the male's flesh between his teeth as he went for the throat, sucking, nipping and licking to feel the rest of the other's body press against his, craving, needy and submissive.

_Angels are pure._  
Sam wasn't. He hated that, he hated feeling it inside him, knowing it, living it, but he loved the conflict - he couldn't deny it. As he dragged his tongue down the middle of the other's chest, his own body shaking with desire and strain as his weight shifted again, bringing his hips down to brush teasingly against the older's, he wondered if Gadreel ever thought of it when they slept together. That what he touched was the opposite of him, even as lowly as he thought himself to be he still couldn't be more so than Sam, whose very blood had been tainted from childhood, who'd let Lucifer in a garden wholly different from the one the sentry had opened for him. There was little in Sam that wasn't somehow marred, as if poisoned by forces outside of him, yet while Gadreel claimed his grace was as broken as they came he was still purely just that - an angel through and through, holy and divine, no matter how far he'd fallen from his kind.  
It was easy to love him, easy now that the long nights spent fixing what had been so badly damaged by the floods of the year past, but Sam couldn't believe that loving him in turn was half like that. He could have sworn against it, but just the same Gadreel promised him that it was the only way he could imagine it being, that it had grown to this from the first moment they'd touched, although little had he known how far and how strong the feeling would come.  
  
He'd been scared the first time he'd given himself to Sam, the experience strange and unnatural to him, but he'd wanted it like he wanted it now. It was impossible to miss - the feeling reigned the touches he shared, the gentle presses of his legs against Sam's hips that guided him down to make love to him in all the ways he'd learned along the way. There was no fear in the older now: all of him was calm, daring even, and Sam didn't have to fear about going past the invisible lines drawn in the sand upon which they'd settled. The bed beneath them did feel like sand, as the cover thrown over it was of rough fabric and a fitting colour just the same - Sam hadn't spared it much attention, and if he'd had any then, now he lacked even that little. He felt it underneath the hand he leaned upon with every movement but like it was something outside of his reality, the one that was made of the taste of skin and the scent and the warmth of a body so damn familiar to him by now.  
  
It seemed like a long time since he'd felt shy tearing off the jeans from Gadreel's hips. He remembered that feeling, the hesitation that had always pulled him back to kissing and snuggling even as his body had burned for more every time that he'd so much as touched the belt with his fingertips. Now it was open, thrown out of the way and joined soon by the button and an open zipper like those things meant nothing, and Sam's hand lacked all that shyness of someone who was still lost on his way that he'd reserved for it on the first time as it now pushed underneath the waistband of the underwear just the same. His own pleased grunt sounded of heat and need and satisfaction of the most primal kind, but the smile on him remained warm and his mind attentive; he picked apart the almost inaudible sigh let out by the older, made sure it was of relief and nothing else before his grip over the male's sex grew firmer and more playful. His lips traced the angel's stomach and he shivered at the feel of Gadreel's fingers sliding down his neck, then his palms pressing over his shoulders - there was barely any strength in them, implication only, but Sam knew to read it as  _down, down, down._ He had no issue heeding that wish; down was the only way he was going regardless of if he was asked to or not.  
  
The skin beneath the now absent clothes tasted like fine dust, salt and water. The first time Sam had tasted it he'd laughed, audible and almost  _bitter_ ; it was unfair that after that run they'd had, the goddamn angel dared to taste like he'd had a shower fifteen minutes ago. Fresh, only touched by the sweat that Sam's own touches were driving from him; it was ridiculous, unacceptable, that he'd even  _taste_  like he wasn't from this world. He was bound in flesh - who'd made up these rules? Who said that Sam had to scrub himself raw to taste good when kissed between his legs, to not need to feel shame at feeling another's nose brush his body even when he'd done his best to keep himself desirable? Who'd decided that he was the human, imperfect and embarrassing and loved for his flaws, and this essence in his stolen flesh was the definition of calm at the face of it while remaining so damn perfect himself? Who'd said he had the right to be flawless?  
Did it come at a cost? Sam should have known. He should have learned by now. Instead of thinking to the price, he dragged his filthy, tingling human tongue across the hard shaft he still held in his grip, seeking balance to set himself up right here between the male's legs as if with the intention to stay right where he was for a good long while.

_Angels are pure._  
But if there was  _one_  thing Sam had learned, purity came in different strokes. There was nothing pure about the way that the angel whose thighs he pushed out of the way, whose knees bent over to his stomach, moaned to the feel of Sam's tongue moving down his body still; there was nothing pure about the absolute decadence that toned the desperation in the movements of his hips as he offered, then retreated, then offered again his flesh to the foreign touch. He was pure in many other ways - the way he tasted, the clarity and brilliance of his mind, the innocence that seemed to never shed from him outside these private moments they got to spend alone - but here, with Sam's finger pressing into him and his tongue tracking the muscle that didn't wish to make way for the intrusion, he was bound to the flesh like any man. Almost a slave to it; every touch, every movement made him lose a part of that absolution that dwelled within him and turned it into a wildfire that Sam loved enough to get lost in it just the same. He wondered if the other felt strain in the leg that Sam's hand was holding so far up, wondered if he'd care once the heat would settle, but most of all he enjoyed - there was nothing not enjoyable about how he made the older feel. It wasn't only visible, it wasn't only easy to feel from the twitching muscles lost at where to move for, in or out and away or towards, but it was something that Sam could  _feel_  within his own body and soul just the same. He wasn't particularly gentle or at all modest about the way he moved his finger, but he knew he was subtle and a tease about the way his tongue worked around that point; the combination would have driven anyone off the edge, but that was half the fun here - Gadreel had never been beyond the line, he'd never begged, he was the essence of calm even when the surface seemed to boil.  
  
Sam had been here before; he'd been on both sides, and the only thing he knew to say from receiving was that he hated it. It made him feel like he couldn't breathe, that his whole body was just that teasing tongue where it didn't belong, something rubbing at his nerves in a way that made him feel like he had no skin at all, something that went way too deep (and God, when he let his finger slide out and replaced that with his own tongue he could almost  _feel_  that within himself, the same torturous kind of pleasure that was much too intense to bear) and something that made him more vulnerable and exposed than he'd ever wanted to be. Giving, on the other hand, was power. He'd never seen anyone squirm like he could make others squirm this way - he'd never heard them shout, scream even, the way they did when he brought them over the edge with his mouth. He'd gone there by accident the first time; with women, it was easy to move just that much too low. He'd found that whatever shame he was bringing upon himself by lowering himself here was a small price to pay for the absolute control he gained in turn.  
  
His fist found its way back over the angel's sex, but as before he merely gripped it, held it, applied just enough pressure to imply but not give anything - not yet. He wanted to feel the tension that suddenly filled the other's body in its entirety before he so much as moved his wrist once, and only when he could hear the shivering gasp of a breath in turn did he allow his hand to work together with his mouth and the hand that had its finger within the angel's flesh again, but which also worked to balance him where he was.  
The extra pleasure was half a reward: Gadreel hadn't asked and it seemed to come quite instinctively, but he now held his leg up on his own accord and without any outside help. His fingers gripped the knee of that leg to keep it unnaturally close to his chest, and Sam felt amused at the knowledge, as it likely had more to do with the fact that his 'free' hand was now gripping the sheets like he was afraid to lose himself if he didn't hold onto something than it had with any practical reasons.  
  
The sounds he was making had lost the usual teasing tone to them: he wasn't making them for Sam. He was making them to keep from screaming, from cursing, from whatever it was that he would have done if he hadn't let those whimpers, whines and quiet, low moans out the way he now did - while Sam was curious as to what that might have been, he didn't feel like finding out tonight, not with his brother on the other side of the wall probably with the volume of the TV set not quite loud enough to cover up a howl from the room adjacent to his and Castiel's.  
He wasn't an exhibitionist, but there was something that was nothing but arousing in  _hiding_ ; there was nothing more erotic than knowing he was toeing this fine line between being found out and remaining safe and secure. He trusted Gadreel to know the rules - a part of him hoped that the other would know them even now, but he wouldn't have bet much to vouch for it. He enjoyed every twitch, every feverish, almost panicked movement of the male's hips twisting his fingers and messing up the pattern of his tongue upon the ring of muscle now more than just slick with his saliva - he loved every sound, even the louder ones, and his body ached with need to the tone of the instinctive kicks of the foot positioned on the bed right beside his face, almost threateningly close the less control the other seemed to have of its movements.  
  
This had to do: any more would probably drive out that howl and even though it might have caused Sam the best orgasm he'd ever had and the first he'd had untouched, he rather traded that pleasure for remaining closeted about his choice in partners, or just the fact that he had no one else but the angel whose sex slid past his lips and into his mouth like he'd done this more than twice before. It came to him strangely naturally - everything between them had. Even the movement of his finger, now deep enough to fit up to the second joint, was easy for him to control. Gadreel's fingers tugged at his hair, seemingly unsure if he wanted the hunter away or closer and settled for both at once, and Sam let him fight that battle alone, uncaring as he could be with a cock filling up the space through which he had to swallow. His tongue felt strained by the work but he slid it over the underside of the older's shaft a few more times just to get that long, almost pained sound from the male, and then, with a gasp and a smirk, he pulled back to watch what he'd done. The reward was so great that he could have almost traded his own end of the deal away just to linger in it for a bit longer: the sight of the older's back arching, his lips wet and parted and red from biting and friction and eyes tightly shut as he hit climax, or was hit by it. It seemed to drain colour from him before flooding it all back, red charging over his chin, cheeks, ears, chest and hips, and as Sam let him go and pulled his hand back he was moving his fingers just to feel the sticky liquid between them.

 _Angels are pure._  
It was a fact that seemed absolute, something set in stone no matter whom you asked, but it wasn't the only thing:  _corruption_  was the greatest pleasure of all just the same.  
On evenings such as this one, the two went together just fine.


End file.
